


The Taming of the Shrew Affair

by Redd2



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redd2/pseuds/Redd2
Summary: Several of those within the hallowed halls of Section One philosophized that, like virgins to be selected for a promising suitor, a CEA’s partner was chosen by the head of the house using form, dowry of talents, and agreeability as the recruiting criteria. U.N.C.L.E. demanded that their top agents had assigned partners and, like any marriageable prospect, the bride was expected to perform to enhance their desirability.   Expand on their skills. Display their good-nature or willingness to serve.Nerves were high as the prospective grooms, for want of a better term, the North American CEA and the Continental Italian CEA came forth to claim their brides. And said brides were reminded of the indignity of a Sadie Hawkins Race all under the guise of a recruitment. Two agents currently on display:  Agents Parks and Kuryakin were the latest candidates to be up for auction.Interesting imagery, wouldn’t you say?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

_To my fellow Spies;_

_As one of Shakespeare’s early comedies, this play, Taming of the Shrew, was first brought to the attention of the populist in or about 1594. In the centuries since Shakespeare’s life, many changes have occurred in the words of the play, but none in the spirit._

_The Taming of the Shrew is a tale of deception, disguise, and of power – what better recipe of mischief in the world of espionage. But even more interesting, is how events and personalities can confuse and shape circumstances for one person’s ultimate goal of control and supremacy over another. Control – it is a tale as old as the earth itself._

_Shakespeare’s story is also about one person wooing another. What does it matter be it man to woman or man to man as the balancing of either of these dualities can be very powerful. But it is also a tale of two distinctly strong personalities who, through battle and conflict, find common ground and amazingly – find trust._

_Our story begins before there was any partnership, before there was trust, and cooperation was on no one’s agenda._

_For your consideration,_  
_Redd_

#### PROLOGUE

New York Agent Solo read through the U.N.C.L.E. Personnel File.  
Illya Kuryakin. Russian, of all things, twenty-three, with one year in the Berlin office. Recently transferred to London after a string of successful missions – successful missions yet mysteriously kept secret. By reputation; efficient and stubborn. By rumor; arrogant and condescending – a poor prospect for matrimony let alone a team player on missions.  
_‘Oh goody,’_ he thought to himself, _‘just what I like in my very own partner.’_

Illya frowned as he summarized the history he had heard on his fellow agent.  
Napoleon Solo was impossible. Completely full of himself; an egomaniac let loose from the New York office. His file, and not so much his fellow Section Two agents known as his minions, was filled with stories of his greatness. The entire spy world knew of Solo’s exploits, unfortunately the successes of the members of his team - not so much. His insufferable opinion of himself did seem to have some basis in fact but how intolerable could one’s superior be?  
_‘Marvelous,’_ Illya reflected, _‘another useless twit leading me to an early grave.’_

********


	2. Chapter 2

#### THE ITALIAN RIVIERA

The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. But then the soul-erosion of being a double-agent breeds fear and nervous tension, an ugly scent of its own, enough to bring the senses awake and revolt from it. And that breeds mistakes.

Il Capo (‘the Chief’ in Italian), a powerful Thrush master-mind long sought after, was meeting such a creature at a secluded shanty hidden from the better parts of society. It seemed apt to conduct their dirty business within such a place.  
“You have brought news of the Papers?”  
The double-agent nervously nodded, the head swerving constantly searching for hidden dangers. A lifetime of being careful, the double-agent was hesitant to speak.

“Tell me of them,” Thrush demanded. And then, when the one before him still hesitated, he coaxed. “Come, come. You have gone this far. It will be easier, each time you betray U.N.C.L.E. This is nothing to that. The money will help, yes?”

The smile on the one before him confirmed his surmise that the incriminating papers were forthcoming.  
The traitor offered a message from a Hungarian Thrush agent, Goytchev. His words came in a fear-induced rush, “We got word from Goytchev that he will be delivering the Papers for a new laser weapon. I know the language so I translated.” The traitor’s weak voice lowered into a whisper, “No one knows that I know.”

Il Capo knew human nature and he knew how to compromise it. This double-agent would be useful – to a point — and would need to be brought along delicately. But soon, very soon he would be on the receiving end of this very important information. Information that would cripple the world once and for all and bring him power.  
Il Capo could almost guarantee it.

********

#### ACT I – Scene 1

The night was dank and bitingly cold, just the right temperature for a mission. Batista, the Chief of U.N.C.L.E. Rome, was saddled with two problems and he didn’t like it one bit. And now Waverly had sent his hot-shot agent, Napoleon Solo.

In the first place Batista was to oversee a new agent appointment; two candidates were up for promotion – for his own CEA’s new number two slot or as the new partner for Mr. Solo. And in the second place (no lesser in importance in his own mind) he had a leak in his headquarters to contend with. Both of these taxed his time and labor, not something the Italian was usually in abundance of. Things were done differently in his part of the world, the Roman way if you will. Reserving one’s energy was more the rule than the exception.

Batista stood over the map of the area, the captured Thrush message in his fist. The communiqué they intercepted the day before was the tip-off. That it was that confounded Russian recruit who was the only one who could translate it, was irritating. Hungarian with a Baltic dialect indeed! Confounded agent spoke and read more languages than was healthy. The message told of the arrival of a packet of Papers, a highly valuable laser weapon formula of power unseen in the world to date. The message told that the Papers were to be handed off within this warehouse complex outside Rome. It was rumored – who ever had this weapon would rule the world.

Batista turned to his CEA, Felipe Lucento, for the latest weather report. Lucento always had a joke for the team but he was deadly serious on missions. Batista looked up to survey the team members on this particular affair and acknowledged that it was Lucento who was to lead. Young Pietro Treno (Lucento’s Aide) and Gerald Parks on scout, Sal Lazarra (the old-timer) as backup, Francesco Giovanni was already on the roof as sniper, and Illya Kuryakin on explosives.  
Batista philosophized that, like virgins to be selected by a wealthy suitor — both Parks and Kuryakin were on display this night as they were the candidates to be picked for partnership. U.N.C.L.E. demanded that their top agents had assigned partners and, like any marriageable prospect, Parks and Kuryakin were expected to perform to enhance their desirability. Batista smiled; their dowry, if you will. However, this time the pickings seemed greatly uneven. Parks was the charming, young up-and-comer and Kuryakin suspiciously troublesome although a proven expert in many areas. Several of his fellow U.N.C.L.E. Chiefs had called him with a request to share the sought-after Parks. No one spoke for Kuryakin. Because of Waverly’s status, Solo had first pick and Batista would honor that but by God, his wish was for the well-mannered Parks to be partnered with his Lucento.

Out in the night, Solo watched closely the interaction of the team as he listened to their interplay. He watched as Lucento was helping Parks with his gear, completing a missed step, adding a forgotten tool.  
Treno restlessly paced the alley. The young agent had no idea how close to danger he was as he continued mocking the Russian, nerves making him reckless. “Hey Kuryakin. Slowing down? You haven’t killed anyone so far today.”  
Kuryakin shrugged, calmly checking his own gear, not needing assistance, “The day isn’t over yet.” His eyes coming to settle on the young aide.  
“Como? What’s that suppose to mean?”  
“It means if you don’t keep your voice down, I will gladly accommodate you.”  
The blood drained from Treno’s face.  
Napoleon hid his smirk as he noticed the foolhardy Treno had just been put in his place very effectively.  
Unfortunately, young Treno was not so favorably moved as he pointed out to anyone who would listen, “Did you hear that? He’s a lunatic! He is silene, crazy!”  
Napoleon just walked away. Actually, he was okay with that assessment.  
Soon the New York agent would have to make his choice. But for now, the team was ready to move out. Batista glanced around, now where did that crazy Russian get off to?

Kuryakin sat crouched behind a large set of boxes in a dusty, dirty corner of the northern most warehouse. He got in through an impossibly small vent high up in the rafters. He was away from the team, departing from their original plan but he had a sudden instinct, a hunch if you will, that he needed to check out one of the other dark unsuspected buildings not far from their target. And it seemed his hunch was paying off. A single lantern was lit, illuminating two dark figures hunched over a table. Kuryakin got as close as he dared but he was still too far to clearly identify the two spies.  
“Goytchev!” A small, dark man in a trench coat was busy collecting scattered papers when he was interrupted by a short stocky man. “What is it, Vincento? Can’t you see I’m busy preparing for our contact?” The accent was Eastern Europe but the attempted Italian was passable.  
“But that’s just it. I picked up this message at the contact spot. It is in your language.”  
Goytchev quickly opened the paper and translated it aloud. 

_Beware_

_U.N.C.L.E. in building 2_

_Protect the Papers at all costs_

“Show me where you found this.” As the men moved away, Kuryakin saw his chance and took it – he grabbed the packet of Papers and the message. This new message that had given a warning as to U.N.C.L.E.’s presence was in Hungarian. He would have to deal with the thought of a double-agent among the U.N.C.L.E. team later as he hastily set up a trail of explosive charges to cover his escape.

********

Napoleon Solo stood by as the beleaguered team was debriefed. Waverly had sent him to observe two candidates among this group of agents as they carried out this affair and then choose one as his new partner. One candidate would return to New York with him and the other would become the partner of U.N.C.L.E. Rome’s CEA, Felipe Lucento.

The Italian Section I Chief, Antonio Batista, was extremely displeased by the lack of success of the latest mission. They had captured a mid-ranking Thrush operative, Goytchev, and the possibilities of what secrets they would glean would be important. Batista could be heard boasting, “Let Waverly top this achievement.” Unfortunately, the much sought-after Papers detailing the laser weapon were lost in an extensive set of explosions. The untimeliness and close proximity of the explosions almost cost the lives of several of the mission team members. Luckily only one member, Kuryakin, was injured.

Like all demanding bosses, Chief Batista could not let the all-important missing Papers go, even if it meant that he debriefed the team members standing dead on their feet or another lying on a gurney in the emergency room obviously in a great deal of pain.  
“Come gentlemen. The explosion, it was so necessary to destroy all the warehouses? What do you believe we gained in such a demonstration? What do they teach you in spy school that you need to show such _maschio_ tendencies? The Papers on the laser weapon, they can be found nowhere? It is unprofessional, no?” The tirade ended with the Chief solidly in front of the young candidate, Kuryakin.  
Under the grime, the recumbent Kuryakin’s expression was icy; various bruising and a badly fractured leg notwithstanding. “It would seem, sir,” he said, in a Cambridge voice, tinged with central Europe “that something was missed.”  
This provoked an accusatory glance from one of his fellow teammates, Lucento. Napoleon hooded his eyes. Interesting. Lucento and Solo had worked several times together and, Lucento as CEA Rome, his instincts were as sharp as ever. The other members, Treno and Lazarra, seemed to have ignored Kuryakin’s contribution and had valiantly proposed to return and look again for the missing Papers in the wreckage.

********


	3. Chapter 3

#### ACT I – Scene 2

Since all of Kuryakin’s clothes were either destroyed in the blast or ruined by the emergency room staff as part of their examination – replacements were requested. Needless to say, in the meantime one thin sheet was all that was afforded the chilled Russian. One of the hospitals aides passed along a stack of assorted clothing to a lounging U.N.C.L.E. agent who in turn carried them to Solo.  
“Thank you. Agent Gerald Park isn’t it?” Napoleon had noticed the transference and also noticed that the relaxed Parks neglected to inspect the clothing.  
“My pleasure. The name is Parks by the way. With an ‘s’. As in sexy.” The agent laughed slyly, a joke between men. Treno, listening nearby, laughed.  
Solo passed the stack to agent Lazzara. “Check it,” he mouthed silently, drifting over to the exam room to alert Kuryakin of his arrival. He pushed aside the curtain and only caught a glimpse of the U.N.C.L.E. agent inside, the view blocked by the physician at work. Kuryakin was propped up on an elbow watching the casting procedure intently. The doctor was leaning over the leg finishing up the plaster.  


“Kuryakin, are you okay?”  
The answer was slow in coming. “Splendid.” Kuryakin sounded a little peeved.  
The physician merely looked up at the intrusion but only the Russian had the audacity to question the interruption. “Is there something you require Mr. Solo?”  
The doctor moved away to wash his hands.  
“No nothing. Just that your trousseau has arrived. Agent Parks just received a clothing change for you and —” as Napoleon turned back toward the gurney, he paused at his first real sight of Illya Kuryakin, still damp and glowing pink from the cleanup. Blue-eyed and slim, with a gymnast’s build, his torso muscled across the shoulders. A smooth line of skin from belly to thigh. Good Lord, he looked a lot younger than twenty-three.  


“Mr. Solo?” Agent Treno butted in as he seemed to do so often. “I just got this new sweater from my aunt. I just got it through the mail, I mean. She knitted it herself. You could use it for Mr. Kuryakin if you wanted. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”  
Solo nodded, “Thank you Mr. Treno, but I’m sure we can manage.”  
“A little privacy would be appreciated,” commented Kuryakin with acid.  
Napoleon snorted, “Yeah you’re probably right.” He easily backed everyone out and gave the U.N.C.L.E. agent and his doctor their privacy.

They wheeled Kuryakin’s gurney into the hall awaiting transport up to his bed in the U.N.C.L.E. medical wing. Solo sauntered over and lifted up the sheet revealing the newly casted leg. “Well, well, you are certainly out of business for a while.”  
The glare Kuryakin gave him could freeze ice.  
Giovanni, leaning against the wall, was laughing and intrigued, always ready with a joke. “ _Mi scusi._ Is an American tradition to sign the cast, no?”  
“Of course it is,” laughed Solo seeing Kuryakin growl at the suggestion.  
Whipping out a felt pen, Giovanni said, “Then let me be primo. Mine will be worth much one day, you’ll see _il mio amico_.” Giovanni quickly penned his name with a flourish across Kuryakin’s lower leg, not quite trusting to get any higher or closer. Turning, he offered his pen to Solo – however Kuryakin had had enough. “Try it and I’ll break all your fingers,” he said pushing the sheet back. A male nurse arrived and pushed the gurney down the hall to the new room – leaving behind two stunned agents.

********

Solo and Lucento, the Italian CEA, met up outside Medical. “All right, Felipe, what happened out there? Tell me about the mission.” Napoleon quizzed Lucento hopping to get more information on Parks’ and Kuryakin’s performance.  
“I stepped outside the target warehouse to check our escape route. Parks and Treno were already outside,” he waved his hand expressively. “Then, just as I’m outside, blammo! No more warehouse, no more of the other warehouse. End of mission. End of story. Except it got me dusted up and Kuryakin in medical.”  
“You think Kuryakin set off the explosives by mistake?”  
“What, the number one demolitions expert in all of Europe?” Lucento sneered. “I think things they smell of aroma in Roma, my friend. A small contained explosion in the north warehouse, okay. But how about the larger explosion in the target warehouse where we were investigating? Two separate explosives. It was luck that the team was already outside.”  
Napoleon stared. “You think he set it off deliberately to get you and agent Parks killed?”  
“You bet my sweet mamma,” Lucento stated, eyes narrow. “I think either Kuryakin’s Soviet KGB or I am the Pope’s Catholic. Have you seen his file?”  
Napoleon shrugged. Of course he had. Everyone snooped before choosing a new partner – it was spousal privilege, so to speak.  
“Give me a break Napoleon!” Lucento hissed holding his hands up as if holding files. “No family still alive – but no details. He received a first-class education – the Sorbonne and Cambridge – but no details. And last, a single page Survival School report with a few grades, some scores, some of your scores beaten I might add. And guess what, _ma senza dettagli!_ Not a word about past missions, successful or not. You’ve heard the rumors. If it’s anything like this mission I can guess why - sabotage!” He snorted. “Here’s the thing, yes? We went in to find papers in the south warehouse but somewhere along the way, we discover no plans and the Russian in the north warehouse. We catch a leading Thrush making an escape from the north and Kuryakin’s in the same area as the missing Papers.”  


“What about the missing Papers? Where are they?”  
“How do I know? Chief Batista took the report. I asked Kuryakin but he just treated me like _trascuare_ (garbage). Next thing I knew both buildings blew up.  
Napoleon thought about that. Kuryakin’s file had not listed Hungarian as one of his known languages. He had noted Kuryakin’s absence from the main team but an impromptu meeting with a Hungarian Thrush? Could Kuryakin be a counter-spy or very unlucky to be in the right place at the wrong time? Then he shook his head. “If he’s KGB, Waverly would know. And he’d never risk KGB inside U.N.C.L.E. Where is your Chief? I want to ask him more about these mysterious papers.”  
“I do not know. Off to his card games to relax, I suspect.” Lucento remained adamant. “My advice, Napoleon, is don’t trust Kuryakin. If he becomes your partner… well you are going to have a very short career. My advice to me is to live a long life, have _molit amanti_ (many lovers), and win Parks as my new partner.” Softening he added, “Watch your back, Napoleon. I mean it. Nothing good will come from this devil.” Lucento waved good-bye and left one very thoughtful U.N.C.L.E. agent in the waiting room.

Kuryakin tried to relax after being newly deposited in his private room, complete with crisp hospital sheets, night stand with the customary water glass nearby but definitely inaccessible with his now left leg fully in plaster. Also inaccessible were the bathroom facilities, his communicator, and his gun.  
Most of the room got a cursory look from the agent, as he was lost in thought. He had studied details of the handwriting on the traitorous warning message before destroying it.  
The note could have come from any one of the U.N.C.L.E. mission team; Lucento, as Rome’s CEA was in a favorable position to pass along secrets and he led the raid sending his men to the wrong warehouse. His aide, Treno, and Parks had the same opportunity. Lazzara was close to retirement, always incentive to make additional cash before losing future field income. Giovanni was popular among the ranks but that never impressed Kuryakin. Batista himself had opportunity as the architect of the assault. Even Solo was not above suspicion as he was privy to mission details and had ample time to pass along word of the raid.  
Not knowing who wrote the warning note made everyone around him suspect. All he had to do was have patience and wait for an opportunity to examine everyone’s handwriting. Once he confirmed a match, he would have his double-agent. Illya rubbed at his cast as the pain continued to pester him and he glanced at the annoying scrawl that Giovanni had written that afternoon. He leaned over and gasped in inspiration – an instant handwriting sample. Sure enough, Giovanni’s signature did not match Illya’s memory of the handwriting in the note but he now had a means of analysis. And he could easily out do Solo in annoying everyone who came into his room to sign his cast. He could be as charming and as devious as Solo – more so.  
Until then, he would not turn over the stolen Papers but keep them close and safe. He wanted desperately to get word to Mr. Waverly as soon as possible but his restrictive condition was making this impossible. Until then if anyone even suspected he had the all-important weapon Papers or evidence pointing to the double-agent, he would not be long for this world.

********


	4. Chapter 4

#### ACT I – Scene 3

_The KGB Trainer paced in front of the classroom filled with new recruits. “Take your last breath of freedom. It is the last breath of your own free will. From now on you will trust no one. All family, all friends are suspect and therefore your enemy. Expect at every turn to be deceived, to be betrayed. We own you now. We own the clothes on your back and the life you will lead until we pay for the burial of your cold, dead corpse.”_

Harshly Kuryakin woke, breathing heavy and perspiration blotted his face and body. Kuryakin was 17 when he heard that speech for the first time at KGB Headquarters, Moscow. He was 21 when he heard much the same again at U.N.C.L.E. Survival School, somewhere in the Caribbean. Different players, same old song.  
He absently rubbed at his throbbing leg, remembering his dream. That feeling of being trapped was again upon him. Trust no one.

True to form Solo was becoming very friendly with the nursing staff, much to the disgruntlement of Kuryakin. The long painful hours stuck in the hospital bed was bad enough without having to listen to the constant drivel that was Solo’s romantic approach. Enduring the pain made him testy, enduring foolishness made him downright homicidal. He had a suspicion that Solo was putting on more of a show just for his prospective partner. So Kuryakin took his revenge by spreading a few chosen rumors around the nursing staff.

“If you must set up guard duty at my bedside, must you continue this claptrap with each and every nurse that comes into the room?”  
“Jealous? Ah _‘to be a sailor of the world and time for all ports.’_ ” Solo smirked as yet another nurse entered the patient’s room with another pain pill. The man did look a little under the weather and the leg could be bothering him a bit but Solo felt no compulsion to hide his talents and it was good for the younger agents to see a master at work.  
“Of course, oh great one. Please show me your best.” Kuryakin waved his hand at the smiling red-head in the white uniform that just entered.

“My pleasure,” Solo said with a smile and turned on the charm. Unfortunately, his attentions met with a slap and a short, no-nonsense, not interested. Glancing at the smirking Kuryakin suddenly busy swallowing his medication, Solo followed the retreating nurse out. 

Opening the door to the nurse’s lounge in search of his lost conquest, Solo’s hopes were dashed as the room did not hold the red-head but yet another nurse. Ah, the beautiful Nurse Bernadette, a book in hand and taking her break in the staff room. Solo strolled up as if he was invited. Nurse Bernadette had been the first in his scheme to find night-time companionship during his stay in Rome. She was Kuryakin’s charge nurse and the competitive nature came out in the agent as he noticed her special attention to the young patient in her charge. He cornered her in the break room, complimenting her, showing his caring, considerate side compared to her cold, un-caring patient. 

It didn’t take long to find out that all the female staff in medical had gotten word that Solo was either married, had insanity in the family, had a highly contagious disease, or had all three calamities combined. Either way he saw many opportunities vanish like smoke after a fire.

He was handed Bernadette’s book as reading material – “to put his excess free time and energy to good use!” as the Nurse put it. Solo wondered, _‘Now who would have started these rumors?’_ He already knew of only one blond invalid that answered that question.  
He looked down at the book shoved into his hand and noticed the _William Shakespeare_. Not put off, he idly thumbed through it coming to a complete halt on the beginning title.  
Suddenly he felt he had a definite plan. Thoroughly bowled over with the pure insult given by the insolent and ill-mannered young agent and recognizing the white glove of a duel was thrown down, Solo vowed to get even.

********

Solo sat down and made himself comfortable at the bottom edge of Kuryakin’s bed.

“What are you doing?” Kuryakin was immediately suspicious.

“As your self-appointed body guard, I’m going to give you my full and total attention. To help take your mind off your leg and so you won’t be bored, I’ve decided to read to you every day you’re laid up.  
“Let’s see … something educational I think.” As if surprised that a book was in his hand, Solo exclaimed, “Ah yes, the perfect reading material, it has every prospect of being instructive. It’s a play. Maybe you’ve heard of it – _‘The Taming of the Shrew’?_ ”

Caught by surprise, Kuryakin raised an eyebrow but gave no comment as his seemingly earnest superior made himself comfortable. And then Solo actually began with a summary of the plot. 

“As you know, the story is about a handsome and talented, but unattached, hero named Petruchio. In the city of Padua, Italy, there lived a father with two lovely daughters, Katerina and Bianca. 

“Now Bianca was beautiful and fair and lovely in manners. The older daughter, Kate, was of a dreadful disposition and quite rude.” 

Kuryakin scowled as Napoleon flipped through the book to a page at the beginning. “Now daddy had several suitors for the youngest daughter however tradition held that the oldest daughter must be married off first. But as you can imagine Kate was on her way to becoming an old maid.  
“You know, always a bridesmaid, never a bride, hmmm?” Solo looked meaningfully at the Russian. “Act I opens with the father’s resolve: 

_Gentlemen, importune me no farther,_  


_For how I firmly am resolved you know;_

_That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter_

_Before I have a husband for the elder.”_

Solo flipped though some of the pages, “Ahh but ‘sweet’ Kate has a reputation for a poor attitude. Some say; 

_“To cart her rather; she’s too tough for me._

__

__

_No mates for Kate unless you were of a gentler, milder mold._

__

__

_From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!_

__

__

_A devil’s dam: your gifts are so good, here’s none will hold you.”_

__

__

The readings took the plot to the introduction of the gallant young man who would eventually try to win the ill-mannered Kate. The man, Petruchio, claimed why he had come to town: 

_“Come to wive it wealthily in the town of Padua;_

__

__

_If wealthily then happily in Padua.”_

__

__

Solo winked at Kuryakin, applauding the man in the play who would search out a wife, the richer the better. Kuryakin rolled his eyes, his leg was aching and his ears were getting a work-out. “But, my fine young agent,” Solo continued, “the dashing Petruchio had selected the pigheaded, inflexible Kate for his mate and made known his claim.” 

_“For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,_

__

__

_And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate_

__

__

_Comfortable as other household Kate’s.”_

__

__

Solo closed the book looking intently at the bed-ridden man but he only saw the solid look of pure resistance.

********

The next morning, Solo was called into Chief Batista’s office along with the Doctore Verona. “Signore Solo, my apologies but I did not welcome you properly when you first arrived. Please accept _mi buenaventura_ at this time.  
I must tell you, most sincerely, that I am resolved to make a decision about our staffing arrangements as soon as possible. I am most strongly against Mr. Kuryakin coming into my office. He is too rough for us and he is, how you say, not the team player.”

“I do say I agree with the Chief, Mr. Solo,” said the doctor smoothly. “This young man is, while evidently excellent at his craft, he is extremely disreputable and quite rude. Whereas Mr. Parks has exemplary manners.”

Napoleon remembered a line he had read the night before from _‘The Shrew’_ where the father asked all the suitors to gather. They all decreed their wish to marry the man’s youngest, the fair Bianca. The father agreed with their choice and spoke with criticism of his oldest daughter and despaired of her ill temper and unworthiness to be a suitable companion to anyone. The father then declared that, unfortunately, his oldest daughter must be married first and this caused an unholy row. Kate overheard her father’s harsh criticism and accused; 

_“I pray you sir, is it your will_

__

__

_To make a stale of me amongst these mates?”_

__

__

He found himself defending the agent he himself cast as ‘Kate’. “Gentlemen, I find that Mr. Kuryakin performed quite well on this latest mission.”

“Good lord man, he nearly killed his entire team.”

“And yet he was the only one injured.”

“He’s mad and so are you if you take him as your partner.”

“Come, Signore Solo. You know there is talk that Mr. Kuryakin cannot be trusted. That he is a double-agent.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that Chief?”

“Nothing, nothing. Office rumors I am sure.” Batista immediately backed down but did not change his wishes, “I must tell you that Mr. Kuryakin is not my choice. However, when I return from a short trip on another affair, please let me know your choice.”

The words were out before Solo thought them through, “Mr. Kuryakin is a fine agent and I would be proud to have him as a partner.” The words from the _“Shrew”_ rang in his ears. 

_Petruchio: Be patient, gentlemen, I choose her for myself;_

__

__

_If she and I be pleased, what’s that to you?”_

__

__

_The father: “I know not what to say; but give me your hands._

__

__

_Bod send you you, Petruchio! Tis a match._

__

__

_A Friend: Amen, say we; we will be witnesses._

__

__

_Petruchio: Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu._

__

__

_I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace._

__

__

_We will have rings and things and fine array;_

__

__

_And, kiss me, Kate, we will be married a Sunday.”_

__

__

********

Taking a brief respite in the seaside resort, Il Capo kept his two bodyguards close. They stood behind him, respectful and unobtrusive. They kept him safe and they kept him disguised from the rest of the world for only they knew him as Il Capo.

The one bodyguard, his face wooden and grey but his eyes flickered and gleamed like a conjurer’s. His whole long body was restless and his hands shifted often on the brass rail. He would kill without interest or concern for what he killed; some knew him as Vincento Portico. The other guard, known only as Gerimo, looked like a Corsican shopkeeper. He was short and very dark with a flat head covered with thickly greased hair. He seemed to be a cripple. A chunky Malacca cane with a rubber tip hung on the rail beside him. He looked wide and well fed. His mouth hung vacantly half-open and revealed very bad teeth. 

********


	5. Chapter 5

#### ACT I – Scene 4

“It is about time I heard from you, Mr. Solo.” Mr. Alexander Waverly, Section One Number One received a late-night call. “We have again, received a crippling blow on one of our recent affairs due to inside information leaking to the enemy. It is clear that Thrush has one of our own on their payroll. In more disturbing news, there is a new power-broker that has come onto the scene in Europe known by the Italian name of _‘Il Capo’_ (The Chief). I do not need to emphasize the dangerous situation we have out there.”  
As he leaned against the wall in his room, Napoleon heard some papers being shuffled over the communicator.

“On another note, I was about to congratulate Mr. Batista on his recent capture of one Thrush’s operatives; an agent by the name of Goytchev. He murdered one of our agents and it was rumored that he was working for _Il Capo_ outside of Prague. It has just come to my attention, however, that this agent committed suicide before he could be interrogated. It is truly bad-form that security wasn’t more vigilant.” 

Solo could hear the frown in Waverly’s voice. 

“Goytchev revealed nothing beyond his membership with Thrush, of which he was arrogantly boastful, but he let slip a small bit of information regarding a gambling house outside Rome – the Italian Riviera. We believe that our double-agent is exchanging information at such an establishment. I don’t have to tell you; this information exchange will undermine our very existence. It is most unseemly to have treason within our ranks, Mr. Solo. I want this individual rousted immediately. You are to pick up your new partner and make haste to the Italian Riviera. Observe and run this scoundrel to ground.”

“Of course, Sir. Have no fear. What of the ahh, these Papers on this new laser weapon that has supposedly gone missing?”

“Harumph. Mr. Solo, you will please focus on the task at hand that I’ve given you.”  
“Oh, well, of course sir. I’m sure I can handle any obstacle that may come my way. This seems a relatively simple mission. I have faced many more demanding challenges in the past and turned them into successes, haven’t I?” Solo’s attention strayed to a passing nurse.  
“Of course, Mr. Solo. However, I want you to take care. It doesn’t pay to rely too strongly on past achievements.”

Not trusting Mr. Waverly’s often unpredictable mind-wanderings, Solo broached the subject near and dear to his heart. “Sir, may I ask if you’ve made a decision regarding the open position of Chief of Enforcement for Section 2 New York as yet?”  
“Why Mr. Solo, how very presumptuous of you.”  
“Well, it’s just that the position has been open for a long time and you have tried out quite a few of us agents already.”  
“Let’s just see how this double-agent business goes, shall we Mr. Solo? We will talk later when you have completed your mission. Please see to your own arrangements to the Riviera. As regards to your new partner, I have heard that your choice is to be the mercurial Mr. Kuryakin. Is this true?”  
“Well, yes sir it is.” And Solo spoke a quote from the plot line where Petruchio is asked by Katherine’s father about his choice of wife: 

_“I am as peremptory as he proud-minded;_

_And where two raging fires meet together_

_They do consume the thing that feeds their fury;_

_Though little fire grows great with little wind,_

_Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all;_

_So I to him and so he yields to me;_

_For I am rough and woo not like a babe.”_

To Solo’s amusement Waverly responded with a quote in Kate’s father’s own words, 

_“Well mayst thou woo and happy be thy speed!_

_But be thou armed for some unhappy words.”_

Solo chuckled, “Yes, well that may be true.

_As mountains are for winds,_

_That shake not, though they blow perpetually.”_

********

Chief Batista notified all the members of the recent warehouse mission that he would hold a final de-briefing in Kuryakin’s medical room sharply at 2:00 that afternoon. They were all assembled except Solo - he was late. Batista paced, his dramatics demonstrating the insult, unforgivable from the New York agent.

_“Basta!_ Where is that man? You gave him the invitation Mr. Parks, yes?”  
“Of course, sir. You can count on me.”

Kuryakin knew it was a waste of everyone’s time to call another briefing just to re-assemble facts they had gone over not 24 hours ago but the un-timely suicide of the recently captured Gotchev made everyone irritable. So far he was unsuccessful at determining the writer of the traitorous message. He had eliminated Lucento after sneaking a look at his crudely hand-written report of the last mission but it was clear that he himself was high on Lucento’s list of those not to be trusted. He needed to get more samples. This latest antic of tardiness on the part of Solo was a distraction. Was Solo simply putting the Italian Chief in his place or was something else up, Illya wondered.

Agent Treno entered the room, his new sweater very much making an appearance. Kuryakin bullied agent Lazzara into signing his cast while they waited – not a match.

Batista interrupted any further signing opportunities by calling the briefing to order.  
Frustrated, Kuryakin stewed as they all listened.  
Batista began the meeting by asking again for any further information on the failed mission or in the whereabouts of the missing Papers. He impressed upon them again, to check with their contacts and informants. He pushed Lucento and Parks to return to the warehouse and search through the rubble again. “You all must be concentrating. It is most unprofessional to not be forthcoming with information. If Mr. Solo was here, I must have his information from New York.”

Kuryakin took offense at the slur that Batista implied. _‘Unprofessional’_ was laying it on a little thick – even for Solo. “I heard that Mr. Solo was on a call from New York that couldn’t wait.” Surprisingly he found himself defending the agent he himself had cast as an unruly and undisciplined ‘Petruchio’.  
His attention picked up. Batista was very interested in this possible new information from New York and made a note to ask what it might be. What was Waverly up to? “Really? What news?”  
Treno spoke up first, “I’ll go to Communications and see what’s up.”

********

Solo had spent the morning researching casinos along the Italian Riviera and practicing a complicated progression system on the even chances at roulette. It was clear that he would need the talent of a highly skilled mathematician in order to do well at the tables. With some reluctance he thought of Kuryakin. Napoleon thought, with no small humor, that his plan would work better if Illya was not the double-agent – that thought would inevitably crowd the thoughts in his mind during the coming mission. He would have to find a way to gain Mr. Kuryakin’s cooperation. Solo had to use other than U.N.C.L.E. resources to set up his plan on the Riviera as Waverly had insisted this was to be a ‘need-to-know’ mission of the highest secrecy. 

Solo was to only report to him and trust no one.  
Unfortunately, it took more time than he expected to make reservations and set up his cover so he was rather late to the 2:00 meeting set by Batista. To hide what he had been doing, he quickly borrowed a sweaty, torn gym suit from HQ and rushed to the meeting.  
“I hope I haven’t kept you all waiting.” Solo waltzed in, apparently coming from a recent work-out and still in gym attire. “Lost all sense of time on the treadmill.”  
Agent Parks gave a snide remark, “A little lapse in time management, old man. Your bad luck.”

“Really Mr. Solo, to be so late, it does not represent well of the New York office. And really your attire leaves much to be desired. However, Mr. Kuryakin explained that you had been called away on a communication from New York. Could you please share any information you received?”  
“New York? Oh, nothing to bother about. Please don’t let me interrupt your little meeting.”

Unhappily, Batista continued the briefing. Solo glanced over at the Russian. Was he missing something or did Kuryakin just cover for him?

“Mr. Solo. I believe you missed an opportunity to sign my cast earlier.” Illya’s small smile was candid and unassuming as he held out a pen.  
Solo smelled a skunk but could not think of why Kuryakin was changing his mind, let alone the facts about the last time his cast was to be signed. As it was, Solo noticed that the ill-tempered agent had already gained several signatures on his leg. “Ah yes. I would be honored.”  
Not surprised, Kuryakin glanced down at the signature and saw that it also did not match.

“And in conclusion,” Batista ran on, “I would like to announce my joy and pleasure at the new addition to our headquarters, Signore Gerald Parks.” Several of the assembled agents clapped appreciatively and Lucento gave Parks a solid thump across his shoulders. “Of course, that means that Mr. Solo has graciously resolved to take Mr. Kuryakin off our hands. I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Solo. Now everyone, I hope you will follow my lead and go enjoy your evening off.”

Batista made it sound like Solo had taken the ‘sword’ for the team, so to speak, instead of the determined decision that it was. Solo and Kuryakin locked eyes as he returned the pen.  
Napoleon was sure that he was misunderstood and Illya was sure that he understood how he was passed over. Solo sighed as his task just got harder. 

********

That night Kuryakin was waiting with the accursed book already open and marked to a specific page. Solo saw that he had lost his advantage and sighed as he took his seat, giving the devil his due.  
“ **Mister** Solo.” Kuryakin began reading; 

_Petruchio: “Father, and gentlemen adieu._

_I will to Venice’ Sunday comes apace._

_We will have rings and things and fine array;_

_And, kiss me, Kate, we will be married a Sunday.”_

Kuryakin skipped through reading the romantic games of Kate’s lovely sister and her myriad of suitors. Then he came to that fateful Wedding Day between the woman Kate and her betrothed Petruchio. Unfortunately, the groom was late and the disheartened bride lamented:

_Kate: “Who wooed in haste and means to wed at leisure._

_I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior;_

_And to be noted for a merry man,_

_He’ll woo a thousand, point the day of marriage,_

_Make friends, invite, and proclaim the banes;_

_Yet never means to wed where he hath wooed.”_

Kuryakin, the de-briefing meeting fresh in his mind, looked up pointedly at Solo who was tipping back in his chair, seemingly taking great interest in the ceiling.  
Kuryakin read the part where the groom finally arrived to the wedding wearing conspicuously inappropriate attire and behaving in a completely improper manner at the wedding. The father of the bride grieved:

_“Why sir, you know this is your wedding day._

_First were we sad, fearing you would not come;_

_Now sadder that you come so unprovided._

_Fie! Doff this habit, shame to your estate,_

_An eyesore to our solemn festival.”_

The wedding party was aghast at the attitude of the groom;

_Germio: “A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.”_

_Lucentio: “Curster than she? Why, ‘tis impossible.”_

_Ger: “Why, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.”_

_Luc: “Why, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.”_

_Ger: “Tut! She’s a lamb, a dove, a fool to him!”_

“Perhaps the _‘Shrew’_ is on the other foot,” Kuryakin offered glancing up.

Surprised at the challenge, Solo quickly grabbed the book from Kuryakin’s hand. An angry glint in his eye as he flipped forward in the pages for the next scene he was minded of. The wedding had taken place and at that point the newly blessed husband addressed the wedding party: 

_Petruchio: “Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains._

_I know you think to dine with me today_

_An have prepared great store of wedding cheer,_

_But so it is, my haste doth call me hence,_

_And there fore here I mean to take my leave.”_

_Lucentio: “Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.”_

_Pet: “It may not be.”_

_Germio: “Let me entreat you.”_

_Pet: “It cannot be.”_

_Kate: “Let me entreat you.”_

_Pet: “I am content.”_

_Kate: “Are you content to stay?”_

_Pet: “I am content you shall entreat me stay,_

_But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.”_

_Kate: “Now, if you love me, stay.”_

_Pet: “Germio, my horse!”_

_Kate: “Nay then,_

_Do what thou canst, I will not go today;_

_No, nor tomorrow, not till I please you way;_

_The door is open, sir, there lies your way.”_

_Pet: “O Kate! Content thee; prithee, be not angry.”_

_Kate: “I will be angry; what hast thou to do?_

_Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner;_

_I see a woman may be made a fool_

_If she had not a spirit to resist.”_

_Pet: “They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command._

_But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.”_

Solo closed the book he was reading from and held a steady gaze at the young agent lying in bed across from him. In the silence he said, “We leave _‘on the morrow’_.” 

********

Within the gilded walls of an Italian casino, a very private game transpired with an exclusive assortment of wealthy players too foolish to miss a high stakes game and too weak to leave when the risk was high. Il Capo was playing and still apparently winning. There was an untidy pile of flecked one-hundred-mille plaques in front of him. In the shadow of his left thick arm there nestled a discreet stack of the big yellow ones worth half a million francs each. If he was upset that his newly ‘turned’ double-agent wouldn’t be showing this night it didn’t reflect in his game.

The bodyguard, Vincento Portico, watched the curiously bland profile of his boss for a time and then shrugged his shoulders to lighten the thoughts racing through his mind and moved away to wait. When it came down to it, hiding in the shadows was in his preferred nature. A nature more suited to violence than patience. In contrast not far away, Gerimo leaned upon his ever-in-hand walking cane, a picture of composed stillness. There would be a summons when Il Capo became bored. Until then – nothing else mattered. 

Il Capo would find a way to inflict his displeasure – the missing Papers were tiresome. However, the new double-agent was out tracking them down, so waiting mattered not. He still retained the advantage, although one’s nerves were always reliable. The all-important Papers were last seen in the warehouse before it was blown up. Il Capo himself had seen it and he wondered if the U.N.C.L.E. explosive expert, Kuryakin, had also seen it and had them now – wouldn’t that be interesting. The double-agent would be dealt with in his own way but not before Il Capo received the final crucial piece of information that would bring the world to its knees, a weapon to end it all. That would be his triumph.

********

**Author's Note:**

> As my guest, you are invited to attend with comments, feedback, or tips


End file.
